


The Dangers of a Conscience

by FlyingFyreFlye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Coercion, Developing Friendships, Double Agents, Draco Malfoy has a conscience, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Secret Relationship, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFyreFlye/pseuds/FlyingFyreFlye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco finally takes the insults a step too far, and on his quest for redemption he stumbles into a relationship that just might have the power to change his whole world view. He never could have anticipated that one little apology would ignite a chain of events that have the power to change the course of not only his own life, but of an entire war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is just about finished, except for editing, so I should be able to give you guys a new chapter around this time every week! :)

Draco tossed and turned in bed, unable to settle as the guilt from his actions earlier in the day turned his stomach and prevented him from falling asleep.

The rest of Slytherin house had practically hailed him as a hero for getting Potter and the Weasley twins kicked off of the Gryffindor quidditch team, but Draco couldn’t shake the feeling that he might have gone too far this time.

Not with Potter, obviously; he and the Boy Who Lived had a long history of insulting each other’s families, and Draco wasn't remotely sorry for insulting the other boy’s mother—Potter’s insults about Draco’s mother at the Quidditch World Cup last year had been far worse than simply implying that her house had smelled.

It was what he’d said to the Weasley twins that was really bothering him. Obviously there was no love lost between Draco's family and the Weasley's, and it was no secret that Ron Weasley was one of his least favourite people, even more so than Potter. The issue was that Fred and George Weasley, while renowned for being pranksters, had never gone so far as to insult Draco’s family to his face, even though they had more reason to than most, what with the horrible things his father said about theirs on a regular basis, both to his face and behind his back.

And that was the problem. Apart from Ron, Draco didn’t really have anything against any of the Weasley children as people—when he insulted them it was mostly a regurgitation of what he’d been brought up hearing, rather than his actual opinion. Draco had always been embarrassed to be around his father when the man spat insults at other wizards based on things that they couldn’t change, like family or money, but he had learned to keep his true opinions to himself at a young age, because that’s what good little pure-blood wizards were supposed to do. Also, while he sometimes didn’t agree with Lucius' extremist views, the man was still his father, and Draco loved him and would do almost anything to make him proud. So, on top of getting top grades and being a good quidditch player, Draco had learned to suppress his conscience and always act as though he was above everyone with different beliefs or ‘impure’ blood, because nothing seemed to make Lucius prouder than knowing his son was just as disdainful of ‘lesser’ wizards as he was. 

This disdainful attitude came pretty easily when he was facing Potter and his little friends, because Draco had issues with them on a more personal level, and they had never failed to be equally harsh with him in their interactions; but until today he had at least prided himself on having some control, on never taking the insults too far with people outside of Potter's exclusive little group. Today though, he had let his frustration at losing the match get the best of him, and in insulting the twins’ family, especially their poor financial status, he felt as though he’d crossed a line and rubbed his privilege a little too hard in their faces, especially considering how much he knew they were struggling to get the funding for their pranking business—money that would seem like nothing more than pocket-change to Draco's family. It was that issue that was giving him the most trouble in getting to sleep.

It didn’t help that the twins’ (pretty justified, in his opinion) actions following Draco’s remarks had resulted in them receiving a lifetime ban from quidditch. He knew that the sport was important to the boys’, whose attitudes towards academics left a lot to be desired, and Draco himself couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he was told he could never play the game again. Add that to the fact that, no matter what everyone else seemed to think, Draco didn’t want Slytherin to win the quidditch cup only because Gryffindor had a sub-par team, but because of his own team’s honest skills and merit. He would much rather beat Gryffindor with Potter as their seeker, so he could properly lord his superiority over his nemesis; anything less than that would just be settling for second best—he couldn’t brag about beating a team of inexperienced, second-rate players!

It was too late to change all of that though, and besides, he wasn’t really all that upset about getting Potter banned anyway, even if it did mean he couldn’t beat him personally in the final game of the season, the smarmy git deserved to be miserable. Not to mention, if he approached Umbridge and asked her to rescind Potter and the twins’ punishment he was sure that she would believe he had gone mad, and that was the best-case scenario. She might even call his parents, and his father would _not_ be happy if he thought his only son had been caught vouching for Potter and a couple of blood-traitors, especially Weasley’s.

As hard as he tried to convince himself that there was nothing he could do to fix the situation so it would be best to just forget all about it, sleep continued to elude him. Draco didn't want to admit it, but he knew it was because there was something he could do to improve the situation, if only slightly. It was dangerous, and would almost certainly result in some form of grievous bodily harm on his behalf, but his conscience wasn’t going to give him any rest until he at least gave it a try. Confronting the Weasley’s might result in some immediate pain for him, but at least it would eliminate his guilt a lot faster than any mental punishment he could mete out to himself, meaning he might actually get a restful sleep some time this week.

The possibility of sleep settled it, and Draco swore that, tomorrow, he would find the Weasley twins and he would apologise—no matter how much it would hurt his pride to do so.

Plan of action firmly in mind, Draco’s eyes closed as his brain finally allowed him to drift into a restless sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Fred and George had spent most of their day seething in the Gryffindor common room and plotting the many possible methods they could use to torture Umbridge, Malfoy, and Malfoy's lackeys for ending their quidditch careers prematurely.

They had both agreed that quidditch was the only worthwhile reason for staying at Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s departure, and the only reason either of them were still even in school was because they wanted their farewell to leave the Umbridge cow in as big a mess as possible. She may have taken on the role of headmistress since forcing Dumbledore from his office, but Fred and George wanted to make sure that the position would be nowhere near as comfortable as she had hoped before they left for good. After all, why would they need NEWTS when they already had a joke franchise so successful that over fifty per cent of the student population at Hogwarts had purchased at least one of their products in the last three years?

They had been removed from their sulking/plotting by Hermione, who had loomed over them disapprovingly until they had agreed to leave their corner of the common room and go to dinner themselves, rather than bribing first years to bring the food to them. Honestly, what their little brother saw in that girl they had no clue; she was way too keen on rules to be any proper fun, even if she was the brightest witch of her age.

It was when they were on their way to the Great Hall for a very late dinner (the stand-off with Hermione had lasted for an impressive amount of time) that something happened that neither of them could have predicted given a million years and a brain crazy enough to rival Professor Trelawney.

As they passed one of the unused classrooms on the third floor, the door swung open without warning and both of them were pulled roughly inside, door slamming shut behind them.

All George needed to see was a blur of blonde hair before he had Malfoy pinned to the door, wand at his throat. He didn’t even need to turn his head to know that Fred was in a similar position on his right.

Malfoy’s eyes were wide, and his wand-less hands were raised palm-out in the universal sign for surrender.

George didn’t say anything for a moment, relishing the fear in the git’s eyes, before he leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching and spoke, wand pressing even harder into Malfoy’s throat.

“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t hex you into oblivion and stuff you in that vanishing cabinet on the first floor, like we did Montague?”

The boy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t struggle. That was probably for the best, because, to coin one of those Muggle phrases his father was always bringing up in the wrong situations, George’s temper was on a hair-trigger, and he knew Fred had been itching to hit the kid ever since he’d been denied the pleasure on the quidditch pitch and been punished regardless.

“I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear!”

George couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips.

“Hey Fred, have you heard of this apparent tradition where Slytherin students pull unsuspecting former-Gryffindor quidditch players, who they got banned from the game, incidentally, into empty classrooms for completely innocent purposes.”

“Can’t say that I have, George.”

“Neither have I Fred, and I get the feeling that Malfoy here didn’t bring us here for a nice chat and a cup of tea.”

“Well gosh George, that thing they say about twins sharing a brain must be true, because I’m getting exactly the same feeling!”

“Unless he’s worried we want to take revenge on him for that little incident that got us banned from quidditch for the rest of our lives?”

“Well that couldn’t be it George, even Malfoy Junior must know that we wouldn’t hold a grudge for something so small.”

That’s right Fred, we’re good people—”

“I know”

In a completely unprecedented event, Malfoy’s voice actually served to silence them both completely, and while they stood there gaping like fish, Malfoy took it upon himself to fill the silence.

“I know you’re good people. That’s why I’m here—I want to apologise.”

George was so shocked that he dropped his grip on Malfoy and stumbled back a step.

“What?”

Malfoy lowered his hands and rubbed the spot on his neck that George had been none-too-gently jabbing with his wand.

“I’m sorry for what I said after the quidditch game. I was frustrated about losing, and on top of some family issues that I’ve been dealing with lately, I just snapped. Potter and I have a long-standing rivalry, and that prat deserved everything I threw at him, but you two have never done anything to hurt me personally, and you didn’t deserve what I said. I didn’t mean it, I don’t believe it, and I am sorry that you were banned for attacking me when I deserved it.”

Malfoy looked up past George, and straight at Fred.

“I'm especially sorry that you were banned when you didn’t do anything, so I am offering to let you hit me now. I swear that I won’t tell anyone, I know that I deserve everything you want to do to me right now.”

Neither of the twins could draw their eyes from the blonde boy huddled against the door, and no one in the room so much as twitched until Fred jerked his head to look at George.

“Is he serious?”

“Are you serious?” he continued, spinning to look at Malfoy without waiting for George to reply.

Malfoy had seemingly lost his steam with the end of his speech, and he merely flinched back against the door and nodded jerkily.

“Because as much as I want to hit you, and trust me, I _really_ want to hit you—I’m not going to do it if I you’re just gonna go running off to tell Umbridge right away. When that woman expels me it’s going to be for something really worthwhile, not because I punched a little ferret in the face and he squealed first chance he got.”

“I’m not going to tell, I swear,” Malfoy assured. “I really mean it when I say I’m sorry, and if doing this will make up for what I did even a little bit, then I’m happy to do it.”

Fred nodded and crossed the room.

“I like to think that under different circumstances I would be able to restrain myself and be the better man. I take great pride in my self-restraint, don’t I George?”

“That you do Fred.”

“These aren’t normal circumstances though, and even if you are truly sorry, as you say you are, you deserve this all the same.”

Malfoy simply nodded, “I underst-”

The rest of his acknowledgement was cut off by Fred’s fist crashing into his perfectly straight nose.

Blood burst from his nostrils immediately, and the force of the punch sent Malfoy's head snapping back into the door before he lost his balance and dropped to sit on the floor, hands cupping his face.

“Now we’re even.”

Malfoy had the grace to nod shakily and shuffle away from the door, so, with a last glance at George, who nodded to indicate he would catch up, Fred swept from the room, closing the door behind himself.

When he realised George hadn’t left, Malfoy struggled to his feet and spoke around the hands cupped to his face.

“You can hit me too, if you need,” he whispered.

Not two seconds before, George had been sorely tempted to do just that; but looking into Malfoy’s eyes he was struck by just how young the boy looked, and how much courage it must have taken him to bring them here and apologise.

He tried to imagine what it must have been like to grow up as an only-child with Lucius Malfoy as a father and he felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the boy standing in front of him.

He reached out and gently tugged Malfoy’s hands away from his damaged face. He drew his wand and, ignoring Malfoy’s flinch, muttered _“Episkey.”_

Malfoy’s nose popped back into shape with a sharp crack, and with another wave of his wand Malfoy’s face and robes were cleared of blood.

“Don’t think this means I like you, or forgive you,” George clarified. “I still think you’re a spoiled little prick, but I appreciate your apology and the courage it took to say it. That, and I don’t entirely trust you not to go running to Umbridge as soon as I leave. I can’t have Fred being expelled without me, and not for something as silly as breaking your very deserving nose. When we get kicked out of this place it’s going to be for something epic, just you wait and see.”

That got a small twitch of a smile from Malfoy, and an almost sarcastic “I’m sure.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure we won’t run into each other again, and if you ever say anything like that about any of my family members again—except for Ron, even I know he can be a right git sometimes—I will not hesitate to deck you, Umbridge or no Umbridge, understand?”

“Of course. I’d hate to see you expelled for anything other than an epic event of you and your brother’s choosing. I very much look forward to witnessing what you come up with.”

George narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t detect any jest in Malfoy’s words.

“Yes, well, I have to leave now before I start liking you or something stupid like that.”

Malfoy chuckled, “Of course we can’t have that. And I know I’ve already said it, but I really am sorry for what I said.”

“I believe you, and I appreciate you saying so. I’m sure Fred does too, now that he's finally gotten to ‘punch you in your smug little face’. His words, not mine.”

“Well, I’m glad to have been of service.”

George just stared at Malfoy for a while longer, trying to connect the boy standing in front of him with the spoiled jerk that’d said horrible things about his family for something as stupid as losing a quidditch match, but he just couldn’t see it at the moment. Hopefully it'd come back later before he started to worry that the world had turned upside-down.

“Damnit Malfoy, I think I liked it better when you were being an arse, this sudden turn-around is giving me a headache. Good luck with those family issues you’re dealing with, whatever they are, and try not to take your bad temper out on anyone else—I’m not sure your delicate face could survive being punched many more times.”

Malfoy chuckled and replied, “I’ll do my best Weasley, I’d hate to deprive the world of this face. And good luck with your expulsion, I’m sure it’s going to be brilliant.”

George raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Obviously.”

And with that, he left, following the path of his twin to the Great Hall and trying to reassure himself that this was a one-time thing, that someone had hit Malfoy with a personality-switching spell and he’d be back to his normal prattish self by tomorrow.

“Merlin, why is my life so weird?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Draco brought his hand up and gently touched his nose, as though to reassure himself that it was still whole and un-broken. He almost found himself wishing that it wasn’t, just so he could prove to himself that what had happened earlier was real and not some elaborate dream he had come up with after getting so little sleep the night before.

He just couldn’t make himself reconcile what he’d thought he’d known about the Weasley twins with what had just happened in that empty classroom.

He’d known the twins were nice enough people, despite their pranks, but he also knew he had said some seriously horrible things about the older boys’ family, and that if anyone had said something half as bad about his parents then he wouldn’t have been so quick to forgive.

Honestly, everything had been going exactly the way he’d anticipated until George Weasley had fixed his nose and cleaned his face instead of punching him like he had been expecting. The most logical reason Draco could come up with to explain this unusual behaviour was that he’d been right all along about the fact that all of the Weasley's were a bit touched in the head n one way or another. There was honestly no other reason he could think of to explain why George would have done anything other than hit or curse him when offered the opportunity, let alone gently heal him and send him on his way.

All of this thinking was starting to give him a headache, and he was already tired thanks to his conscience not allowing him much sleep the night before, so Draco decided to put the events of the evening behind him for good. After all, it wasn't like he was ever going to speak to any of the Weasley's for any reason other than to trade insults again.

He had apologised for his actions at the quidditch match, and his conscience could finally rest. The best thing to do now would be to put everything behind him and move on with his perfectly acceptable, Weasley-free life.

* * *

 

It didn’t work.

Where Draco had previously had nothing to do with any of the elder Weasley children, now it seemed as though the twins were everywhere. They were in the Great Hall for every meal at the same time as Draco was, they were leaving classrooms as he was entering them, and they constantly popped up at random locations around the castle where Draco could never recall having seen them before.

To make matters worse, George had taken to staring at him intently every time their paths crossed. It really wasn’t helping Draco in his mission to forget about everything that had happened since that horrible quidditch match, and it was made worse by the fact that every time he snuck a look at the twins in return, Fred would stare really obviously between Draco and his twin with a contemplative look as though he knew there was something going on—which there wasn’t!

The whole situation was really starting to freak him out. He’d thought all of his confusion regarding the Weasley twins would disappear after he apologised for being a git, but he was starting to feel like he might have been better off just staying sleep-deprived and guilty. He was sure he would have gotten over it eventually, and that course of action probably wouldn't have put him in serious danger of losing his mind.

He was trying to decide whether it would be worth the effort to learn the disillusionment charm to make himself invisible between classes, and thus limit his future run-ins with the self-declared school troublemakers, when an unexpected letter from his father at breakfast ensured that the Weasley twins were the last thing on his mind.

He had a free period first-up, so he retreated to his dorm to read the letter, knowing that an unscheduled letter from Lucius Malfoy would not be the type of thing that was safe to read in the Great Hall surrounded by the entire student population of Hogwarts.

_Draco,_

_The Minister has ensured that I have remained up to date on the recent goings-on at Hogwarts—he understands the importance of ensuring that one’s children are maintaining the standards required by one’s family and blood status._

_I was vastly disappointed to hear that you were unable to beat the Gryffindor quidditch team this past weekend. If you do not improve your skills I will be required to remove you from the team next year. Losing to a team comprised primarily of blood-traitors is not an acceptable failure for my heir, and I will not allow you to bring shame upon this family._

_I was, however, most pleased to hear that you played a part in seeing that Potter and the twin children of_ that _f_ _amily received a life-time ban from the game. Although I cannot comprehend how you allowed those boys to successfully attack you in such a primitive, muggle manner, I am proud to hear that you are maintaining the family ideals and not simply allowing those children to coast through school as though they are your equals. You will not have to concern yourself with those twins in particular for much longer. The Minister assures me that Dolores Umbridge is doing a far superior job as Headmistress than that blood-traitor Dumbledore ever did as Headmaster, and Dolores has assured the Minister that it is only a matter of time before she has the more troublesome students and staff under control. Between you and I, I do not believe that the Weasley twins are long for Hogwarts._

_In all, I am pleased with the reports of your schooling. Your grades could, as I am sure you are aware, do with some improvement, but I understand that much of your time has been consumed by your duties as a prefect and member of Dolores’s Inquisitorial Squad. I need not tell you that listening to Dolores and assisting her in keeping the unwashed masses of Hogwarts under control is the best use of your time at the moment. You must be sure to do anything you possibly can for the Cause. That includes keeping an eye on the Potter boy and his friends, and reporting any strange behaviour on their behalf. The Dark Lord has plans for them, and he wishes to ensure that his plans come to fruition with as few hiccups as possible. I will keep you updated on this matter as it evolves._

_While we are on the subject of the Dark Lord, he wishes me to inform you that he is impressed with the work you have been doing to support the downfall of Dumbledore and Potter, and their followers at Hogwarts. I know you are still in school, but I think it is time we discussed you joining the Cause in a more definite and permanent capacity. It would be most useful to have a trusted member within Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s very domain, to keep an eye on things. I have spoken with the Dark Lord on this matter, and he has generously allowed you the rest of the school year to consider this offer, but I know you will do what is best for this family and Pureblood wizards across the country. I expect we will have a very serious talk about this when you return to Malfoy Manor for the holidays._

_I am sure you will continue to maintain the strict standards of the Malfoy family for the remainder of the year; the Minister will continue to keep me informed of the goings on at Hogwarts, and the role you play in them. Do not disappoint me Draco._

_Your Mother sends her affection and desire for you to write her. I am sure you will keep her happy with whatever frivolous gossip it is that she so enjoys hearing._

_Your Father._

Draco was frozen. He couldn’t believe what he’d just read. The jibes about the quidditch game and his grades were standard; after all, he did need to ensure that didn’t shame the family by straying too far from his father’s impossible standards.

It was the bit about ‘joining the cause in a more definite and permanent capacity' that was getting to him—his father couldn’t seriously be expecting him to become a Death Eater, could he? He was only fifteen for Merlin’s sake!

Draco could feel himself beginning to panic. He didn’t want this—he’d never wanted this, and he'd always meant to tell his parents that eventually, but now it was beginning to look like the whole decision was out of his hands. His father's letter might have made the offer seem like a request, but Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew you didn’t just say no to the Dark Lord—at least, not if you valued your life and limbs.

The crushing weight of this responsibility sat heavy in his chest and closed his throat until he was gasping for breath. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to talk about this with someone, to finally get it all off of his chest, but he couldn’t. None of his housemates would understand his misgivings—most of his friends would jump at the chance to receive the Dark Mark, but this wasn’t anything he’d ever wanted and he didn’t know what to do about it because he really, really, couldn't say no. All he did know, and the only thing in his life that he could find an immediate solution to, was that he had to get out of the castle right away.

He got up from his bed and walked calmly out of his dormitory and through the common room. He managed to keep a straight face, and even nod in acknowledgement to some of his classmates, until he was completely out of sight of the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories, when he deemed it safe enough to break into a desperate run.

He ran as fast as he could through the dungeons, then the entrance hall, and finally through the front doors and into the grounds, where he stopped running and allowed himself to simply gasp in the fresh air. Just a few seconds later he was off again, walking quickly and barely taking in his surroundings as he made his way across the grounds to the black lake. He stopped when he reached his destination, and stared at the gently rippling water in an attempt to collect his thoughts, but it was completely impossible. Worries and fears were swirling around in his head too quickly, and he couldn’t keep track of them all—it was so overwhelming.

Suddenly finding himself completely exhausted in the wake of his crushing emotions, he just let it all go. He collapsed to the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them tightly to his chest. Feeling tears tickling at his eyes, Draco spared a brief thought to wonder whether anyone else was around, but he figured the sparse trees would hide him from any casual passers-by, and he doubted he could have held his emotions at bay any longer, even if the entirety of Gryffindor house had been watching and laughing at him, so without further thought he buried his face in his knees and sobbed.

* * *

 

He couldn’t say how much time had passed, but eventually his sobs turned to hiccups and hitching breaths, before he stopped crying altogether. He didn’t remove his head from where it was resting on his knees right away, choosing instead to just sit there in the silence and breathe.

He heard a slight rustling behind him and flinched slightly when he felt a warm hand tentatively touch his shoulder.

“Malfoy? Are you alright?”

The tone was gentle, and Draco peeked to the side to see George Weasley crouched beside him, which was really just in-keeping with the day he’d been having so far. He was struck the sudden urge to straighten his posture, and he cleared his throat before responding.

“I’m fine.”

He was actually quite proud of the fact that he managed to keep his voice steady, but something in George’s face told him that hadn't been especially convinced by the response.

“Has this got something to do with the family issues you mentioned the other day?”

Draco groaned, because of course mentioning his family problems to a Weasley in a moment of weakness had come back to bite him in the arse. Despite his misgivings, he found himself replying anyway, “Sort of. It’s related to that, but everything just sort of escalated today.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” George asked in the same careful tone he'd been using since he found Draco, crouched down and crying in the grass. The care in his voice automatically raised Draco's defences. A long-ingrained instinct that had been put in place by his father bristled at the idea of being pitied by a Weasley and made him scoff, “With you? Not even a little bit.”

The corner of George’s mouth lifted slightly in a clearly suppressed smile, but he was relentless.

“Do you have anyone else you can talk about it with?”

Draco just shook his head and resigned himself to answering the nosy git's questions, “None of my housemates would understand the issue. Merlin, they’d all think this was such an honour.”

“And it’s not?”

“Not to me.”

Draco felt his face fall under the mingling relief and despair at finally having admitted his doubts out loud, and his abrupt change in expression caused George’s look of curiosity to morph into one of concern.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what's going on?" he asked. "I know we’re barely even close to tolerating each other, let alone being friends, but I promise I won’t tell anyone what’s wrong, unless you’re planning to kill someone or something.”

It was obviously a joke, but it hit so close to home that Draco couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

“It may very well come to that,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the ground.

George was looking wary now, and the last thing Draco wanted was for him to panic and tell Potter and his friends that he was planning a massacre or something, so he decided to reveal enough to appease George without giving away something that could get them both into serious trouble.

“I got a letter from my father today. He wants me to join the family business in a more permanent capacity.”

George frowned as he imagined just what the Malfoy 'family business' might refer to, “And you don’t want to?”

“Not particularly."

George was obviously confused. “Can’t you just tell him that? As much as I don’t like the man, he’s your Dad, I’m sure he’d understand.”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, “I really don’t think so.”

He could feel himself growing close to tears again, and George seemed to sense it too, because he dropped the subject in the manner of someone who had witnessed too many emotions already, and didn't want to trigger any more.

“Alright, but if you still need cheering up Fred and I have a little excitement planned for later on that you won’t want to miss.”

For some reason, just the mention of the twins’ diabolical expulsion plan being put into action cheered Draco up, and George obviously took his small smile as an acceptance, because he stood up and leaned over to pat Draco on the shoulder, “Just make sure you’re near the entrance hall around dinner time and the rest will take care of itself.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the obviously excitement in the other boy’s voice, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

And he wouldn’t either. He may listen to Umbridge for the sake of his family’s pride, but he understood why all of the non-Slytherin students in the school couldn’t stand her. The woman was borderline psychotic, and being in her presence, especially alone, never failed to make Draco uncomfortable.

George squeezed his shoulder again, and Draco was too emotionally drained from the morning’s events to even want to consider why such a simple touch made him want to blush and hide his face. He managed to quell the urge under the certainty that a Malfoy should never hide themselves from a Weasley for any reason. The shame such an action would bring to his honour would be too much to bear after the morning he'd had already.

“Well,” said George, “We’d better be getting back to the castle, second period is about to start. Not that I care about that in the slightest, but you seem like someone who would find that kind of thing important.”

The dig brought Draco back to reality, and he scoffed good-naturedly and shoved at George’s leg in exasperation.

“Get lost Weasley, I can manage my own timetable thank you very much.”

George’s manic laughter lingered as the boy himself disappeared in the direction of the castle, and Draco couldn’t help but realise how much better the older boy had made him feel in the span of just a few short minutes.

Draco’s mind drifted away from his father’s letter and towards thoughts of the only Weasley he’d ever had a remotely fond thought about in his life. He smiled as he recalled the way George’s eyes had lit up when he laughed at Draco’s expense. 

He stopped himself mid-thought, and his eyes widened in a mix of realisation and fear, “Oh crap.”


	4. Chapter 4

George collapsed face-down on his bed with a groan.

“What irresponsible action has you feeling so down on this fine day brother, and, perhaps a better question, why wasn’t I invited?”

George didn’t even bother to lift his face from the pillow as he raised his middle finger in Fred’s direction, only to be met with maniacal laughter.

“Well, at least you've found something to help you move on from your weird obsession with the Malfoy brat.”

George’s second groan was even more pathetic than the first, truthfully it was probably closer to a whine, and it was met with shocked silence, not that it lasted for very long.

“George!” yelled Fred, crossing the room to glare disapprovingly down on his twin with his hands placed dramatically on his hips. “Please tell me that’s a joke?”

He didn’t answer and Fred punched him in the arm.

“George! Just because the kid apologised, doesn’t mean he’s a good guy!" Fred yelled at a volume that made George incredibly glad that their dormitory was empty aside from the two of them. "He’s still the same slimy little prat we’ve always known—and for all you know he’s just messing with you in the hope that you’ll spill some piece of secret information on the Order that he can pass to his Death Eater buddies!”

George just groaned again and reluctantly turned his face away from the pillow so he could speak, “I know, I know, but you should have seen the guy, Fred! He practically bowled me over running out of the castle like his pants were on fire, and then when I finally tracked him down outside he was _crying_.”

Fred just looked down on him and judged him silently with a frown on his face, and George took that as his cue to continue.

“I know you don’t trust the kid, and I’m not sure I do either, but have you ever thought about how hard it would have been to grow up in that huge house with _that_ man as a father?” 

Fred’s eyes were as wary as his tone when he replied, “Look, George—”

“No Fred, I’m serious,” and, for the first time, his brother actually seemed to understand that he was. “He grew up in that massive house with only his parents and the House Elves’ for company—can you blame him for being a prick? I’m honestly surprised he didn’t turn out worse! But despite all of the prejudiced pureblood crap he grew up hearing, he still managed to swallow his legendary pride and apologise when he went too far. I know there’s a good chance that this is just some twisted game he’s playing to get me to trust him, but I just have this gut feeling that it’s not, and if he is being sincere then I don’t want to leave the guy to his awful life with no one decent to talk to.” At this point George didn't know who he was trying to convince more, Fred or himself.

Fred frowned at him, considering, “A gut feeling you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Well why didn’t you say so Georgie?!” he yelled, making George almost jump out of his skin. “You know I always trust your gut, it’s right far more often than your brain.”

George chose to ignore the insult for a change and laughed, tugging his twin down for a bear hug, “Thanks Fred.”

“Any time George.”

They managed to lay beside each other in companionable silence for a short moment before Fred ruined it, because George was sure his brother would actually explode if he ever passed up an opportunity to kill a nice moment.

“Besides, if you’re caught up on Malfoy that means all the fine ladies who want a piece of Weasley twin will be coming to me.”

“Merlin, Fred, you’re disgusting!” George shouted, ignoring the swooping feeling in his belly and shoving his good-for-nothing twin off of the bed as he roared with laughter. “I want to help the guy, not get in his pants—he’s fifteen years old for Merlin’s sake!”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and copped a pillow to the face for his idiocy.

“I’m serious Fred! It would be weird, not to mention if it got out he’d be in way more trouble than me—can you imagine what Lucius Malfoy would do if he found out his only son was in a relationship with a blood-traitor, and a Weasley at that?”

“Hmmm,” pondered Fred, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger in a way that made George want to throw another pillow at him. “You make a good point brother-mine.”

“And there’s still the fact that, even though I feel sorry for him, I still know he’s a smarmy git.”

“An indisputable fact when it comes to Malfoy, I will give you that Georgie. It’s clear you have terrible taste in crushes, and I’m just glad it’s not genetic.”

“Maybe it’s contagious?” he teased, giving up completely on trying to convince his twin that he didn't feel anything for Malfoy partially because he didn't know exactly what it was he was feeling, and partially because Fred had always been able to tell when he was lying, so any further denial would only add fuel to the fire.

“Well if I start to feel attracted to Malfoy I’ll be sure to let you know,” Fred teased right back.

“You’re too kind Fred, but that still doesn’t help the fact that, whatever it is that I'm feeling, I’m still not all that attracted to the kid. He’s too young and I really can’t trust him; besides, smarmy gits have never really been my type.”

“True, true,” murmured Fred, still stroking his entirely hairless chin despite the fact that he must know it made him look like a lunatic.

Fred was silent just long enough that George began to hope the subject had been dropped for the moment, but of course that hope came crashing down when his twin decided to open his massive mouth yet again.

“You’ll just have to settle for friends first then,” Fred smirked.

George choked on his next breath, “What?!”

“Well, if you build a friendship with Malfoy first then you can earn each other’s trust. Merlin knows that with Malfoy’s less than sparkling personality it’ll take long enough that he’ll probably be of age by the time you can stand to be in the same room long enough to be considered friends.”

“Merlin, how are we even related?” If their identical appearance didn't make it impossible to deny the fact that they clearly shared the same genes, George would definitely be questioning just how he could have the same DNA as the idiot sitting next to him. 

“I don’t know—you just got lucky I guess. Some higher power knew you’d need my help, and they were obviously right,” Fred bragged, either ignoring or completely oblivious to George's disbelief. “Honestly, what would you even do without me George?”

“Perish, obviously,” George replied, voice positively dripping with sarcasm that went completely ignored by the git he'd been stuck with since birth.

“Exactly!" exclaimed Fred in what was possible the most smug tone ever used by a wizard. "Now, I won’t deny the fact that I dislike Malfoy as much as every other sane person in this school, but for your sake I am willing to limit my expression of that dislike to thinly-veiled insults while you attempt to trick him into becoming your friend.”

“You are too generous,” George muttered sarcastically, scoffing internally at the idea that Fred could ever be considered anything close to sane.

“I know,” Fred gloated like the smug bastard he was. “Now, first things first.”

“And what’s that?” George found himself asking against his better judgement.

“What exactly is Malfoy’s first name?”

Fred managed to keep laughing even as George threw his last pillow in his twin’s face and stormed from the room in a (completely justified) huff.


	5. Chapter 5

When Draco exited Professor Umbridge’s office he was the very picture of calm. He pulled the door gently closed behind himself and strolled down the corridor as though he owned the whole castle. It wasn’t until he was three floors down from the horrible pink torture-chamber she called an office that he let his panic take over. He rushed into an empty classroom, slammed the door behind himself, and started pacing, trying to think of a solution to his sudden problem.

Draco did not like or respect Hagrid- he certainly wasn’t lying every time he insulted Potter’s favourite teacher- but the man was loyal to Dumbledore, and for his own sake Draco needed as many of those people out of prison and working at Hogwarts as possible. The way he saw it, the more supporters Dumbledore had, the faster he could defeat the Dark Lord, and the less likely Lucius would be to force Draco into accepting the dark mark. That, coupled with the fact that, and he would deny it to his dying breath if anyone asked, if George found out that Draco had known what was going to happen and hadn’t done anything to stop it, the chance of them ever being anything other than enemies would drop well below zero.

Draco quickened his pacing- he needed to think of a solution fast. He had the practical aspect of his Astronomy exam in four hours, and if he wanted to do well then he really needed to get a little bit of last-minute studying in before he sat the exam.

Unfortunately, he was drawing a blank on what to do. He couldn’t go to a teacher himself because they would be suspicious of his intentions, and there was every chance that if he reported it directly, Umbridge would find out and tell his father. Just the thought of his father’s reaction to that possibility made Draco flinch. He couldn’t leave an anonymous note either, because there was a very good chance it wouldn’t be found in time, or that it would be ignored as a prank even if it was found.

The way Draco saw it, the best chance he had was to give the information to George and let him deal with it. The twins might be renowned troublemakers, but a competent teacher would almost certainly take their word on something as serious as this. The only dilemma he faced now was how to get the message to George- he couldn’t very well turn up at the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room and demand to be allowed entrance without the password, but an owl would take too long and he had not yet learned how to produce a patronus, let alone send a message with one.

If only there was someone he could trust to carry the message for him, but all of his ‘friends’ were in Slytherin, and the only Gryffindor he would trust to carry the message to George would be his twin, but there was no point in that, because if he could find Fred then George wouldn't be far behind anyway.

Draco stopped and snapped his fingers as he was finally struck with a good idea- it wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was the best he could manage in such a short period of time. He grabbed a piece of parchment from his bag and quickly scrawled a message on it before speaking to the empty room.

“Dobby,” he called quietly, hoping beyond hope that this would work, because he didn't have time to come up with something better. Thanks to one of his father’s furious rants after his second year, he’d heard that Professor Dumbledore had hired his family’s former House Elf after Potter had set him free, and Draco just hoped the Hogwarts House Elves could be summoned by students as well as teachers. Fortunately, he was proven right by a loud crack and the appearance of a small figure weighed down by numerous woollen hats.

As he’d known he would, the second Dobby saw Draco the Elf frowned and made as though to apparate away.

Draco held his hands out and stepped towards the small creature, “Dobby, I swear I’m not going to hurt you. I know you don't work for my family anymore, but something very bad is going to happen if you don’t help me get this message to George Weasley.”

The little Elf squinted at him warily, “Dobby does not trust Draco Malfoy,” he said. “Draco Malfoy and his family are not nice people.”

Draco felt a twinge of regret as he knelt in front of the Elf, “I know Dobby, and I’m sorry, but I promise this is really important and a good person is going to get very hurt if this message doesn’t get to George Weasley within the hour.”

Dobby frowned, “Why does Draco Malfoy need this message to go to George Weasley?”

“Because he’s the only one who will believe me!”

Dobby flinched at his loud voice, but didn’t back away, and Draco could tell that the Elf was sizing him up, trying to assess if he was being honest.

“Draco Malfoy swears this will not hurt Harry Potter or his friends?

Draco rolled his eyes at the Elf’s hero-worship of Potter, but nodded his head regardless.

“I swear.”

Dobby squinted at him distrustfully for a moment longer before holding his small hand out for the message. Draco handed it over, and, without further delay, the little Elf disappeared with a crack.

Draco let out a huge sigh and ran his hands through his hair, rumpling it from its usually pristine position. He spun around and started his nervous pacing again, but this time he managed to forcibly stop himself after a few moments.

He corrected his posture, smoothed his hair down and straightened his tie until he looked as put-together as the heir to an influential pure-blood family was expected to be. He’d done everything he could to help the situation, and the rest was now up to George to handle- not that would really matter all that much to Draco if Hagrid was fired, he was just doing this to repay George for not punching him in the face when he'd had the chance. He didn’t care if the other boy failed to help the half-giant, even if it hurt George. Seriously, he didn’t care. At all.

He quickly strode from the room, determined to get in at least a small amount of studying before his Astronomy exam.

* * *

 

George was in the middle of vomiting up his and Fred’s latest prototype when there was a loud crack and Dobby the House Elf appeared in the empty bathroom they had taken-over in order to test their new products in without having to worry about Hermione sticking her nose in where she wasn't wanted.

Dobby looked worried when he caught sight of George bent over the toilet bowl.

“Is George Weasley feeling okay?” he asked, large eyes widening earnestly. “Would he like Dobby to fetch the nurse?”

George forced the antidote down his throat and straightened up, “No thanks Dobby, it’s just an experiment.”

Dobby still looked wary, but he let the matter drop in favour of pulling a small piece of folded parchment from one of the many woolly hats piled on top of his tiny head.

“Dobby was asked to deliver a message to Mister George Weasley.”

George frowned, but took the parchment from the Elf.

“Who’s it from?” asked Fred from where he was watching in amusement while stirring a cauldron filled with the prototype for their latest product.

George shrugged and looked at Dobby, who glanced nervously at Fred before replying, “Draco Malfoy.”

Fred immediately burst into laughter, completely forgetting about the potion as he rolled on the floor, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

George blushed gently and raised his middle finger at his hysterical twin before unfolding the parchment and reading the short message within.

Fred stopped laughing when he saw the shocked look on George’s face, “What is it George?”

George shook off his surprise and started packing their equipment, “We have to go see McGonagall, Umbridge is firing Hagrid tonight, and she’s got a bunch of Auror’s as backup to make sure he goes quietly.”

Fred didn’t hesitate to gather the rest of their equipment and follow his hurrying twin from the bathroom, calling a quick “Thanks Dobby!” over his shoulder.

* * *

 

Later that night, as he was lying in his bed and mulling over the day’s events, George felt a mix of emotions; he was furious at Umbridge and the Auror’s who had been stupid enough to listen to her, he felt guilty that his warning had ultimately landed McGonagall in St Mungo’s, and most of all he was confused about Draco Malfoy’s role in all of this.

All of the thoughts swirling around in his brain were giving him a headache.

“If I’d just punched the stupid git in the face when I had the chance we wouldn’t be having any of these problems right now,” he murmured to himself.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that from the beginning,” said Fred from the darkness, making George jump in surprise and then groan, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation.

“Shut up Fred, you’re not helping.”

Fred chuckled before replying, “Well, say what you like about Malfoy, but our lives certainly haven’t been boring since you two started whatever weird relationship it is you have going on now.”

George couldn’t help but agree with him, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit that out loud, so he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow to muffle another groan. He eventually fell asleep to the sound of Fred’s soft chuckles; he made a mental note to murder his twin in the morning- _that_ would definitely make his life easier.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco was sat on top of the Astronomy Tower with his legs dangling off the side, looking out at Hagrid’s hut. The building didn’t look the same without smoke billowing from the chimney and the gamekeeper’s massive form sitting outside.

Draco couldn’t believe that his attempt to keep Hagrid at Hogwarts had backfired so spectacularly that it had resulted in the loss of not only one, but two of Dumbledore’s allies- one running away and the other being indefinitely hospitalised at St Mungo’s. This was not what he had been hoping for, and the worst part was that losing more allies against the Dark Lord wasn’t even what was bothering him the most about this situation. What was most bothering him was what George Weasley thought about all of it. If he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about George before, it was a thousand times worse now. Almost every waking moment was spent wondering if the other boy blamed Draco for McGonagall being hurt, as Draco blamed himself, or if he’d just assume Draco was at fault and never speak to him again.

Draco groaned as he realised how truly pathetic he had become and he was suddenly struck by the urge to tip himself forward and just fall from the Astronomy Tower- surely having his brain splatter across the ground below would put an end to these perplexing thoughts.

That thought might not have been serious, but Draco very nearly did topple from his position when a voice startled him from behind; “Gee Malfoy, I understand that acknowledging the fact that you’re never going to be as attractive as me must be hard, but there’s no need to throw yourself off of the Astronomy Tower! If everyone who felt inferior to me followed that path then Fred and I would be the only people left on Earth, and that wouldn’t be much fun for either of us.”

George’s tone was joking, but the flippant way he spoke was countered by the way he’d gripped Draco’s arm to stabilise him when he’d almost toppled from his perch.

Draco wanted to kick himself when he found himself wanting to lean into that grip, but as that would be impossible in his current position, he shrugged George’s hand from his arm and replied: “Like I’d ever want to look like you Weasley,” he snorted. “You already have half a dozen look-alikes- I fear I may be physically sick the next time I see a freckled red head.”

George scoffed, “Please Malfoy, there is only one me. The rest are just wannabees who are lucky enough to share some of my genes.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at that, and George obviously took that as an invitation, because he swung himself up to sit next to Draco, close enough that if Draco leaned a little ways to the right their shoulders would brush together.

Draco didn’t do that.

They sat in awkward silence for a while, both clearly wanting to speak but neither knowing what to say. Eventually, it was George who spoke; “Fred and I are leaving tomorrow.”

That was not what Draco had been expecting to hear, and he jerked his head around to stare at George in surprise.

George didn’t return his look, instead gazing across the grounds below as he explained.

“OWL’s are over, so we don’t have to worry about disrupting your studies with our grand exit, and honestly, without Quidditch we’ve agreed that there is absolutely no reason for us to stay. I feel like staying in this castle with that horrid woman in charge for more than one more day could very well kill me. She spreads unhappiness like a disease, and unhappiness is not conductive to the joking business.”

Draco smiled through the pang in his stomach and looked away, “Good for you Weasley,” he mumbled. “What’s the grand plan for your escape?”

George scoffed, “Please,” he said. “Like I’d tell you, you’d probably try and steal it.”

Draco didn’t smile at the obvious joke; “I’m not sure my father would be pleased if I got expelled, especially if it was for following a Weasley’s plan.”

George sighed, “Yeah, probably not.”

The awkward silence returned, and it carried on for several minutes until George broke it again, “So, why did you warn me about Hagrid?”

Finally, a conversation topic Draco had prepared for: “I owed you one for not punching me in the face when I offered you the chance.”

George was silent and when Draco turned his head, it was to see the other boy staring at him in disbelief, eyebrow raised and everything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You are a terrible liar Malfoy.”

Draco frowned, “I’m not lying.”

George laughed so hard he almost lost his balance on the wall. Draco frowned and swung his legs back over the ledge to stand on the tower floor. He was walking towards the stairs when George grabbed his arm to stop him. He tried to tug his arm away, but George kept his grip until Draco turned to face him.

“Sorry,” said George, and he did look genuinely apologetic, “But I know that’s not why you did it.”

Draco refused to look George in the eye, and, realising that he wasn’t going to say anything, George continued; “When did you stop believing everything your father told you?”

Draco’s shoulders slumped and he pulled away from George to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. George moved to sit next to him and this time their shoulders did brush together, but Draco barely noticed.

“Last year,” he mumbled.

George didn’t outwardly ask Draco to continue his explanation, but he gently nudged Draco with his shoulder to encourage him to elaborate.

“My father always told me that the Dark Lord’s aim, first and foremost, was to protect magical people from extinction, which is why he is so against muggles and muggle-born's,” he explained. “That was something I could understand, something I could believe in; but Cedric Diggory was a pure-blood. He was a brilliant wizard and he was only seventeen years old, but the Dark Lord ordered his death because he was unfortunate enough to be transported to that graveyard with Potter.”

“The Dark Lord and his followers are powerful wizards,” he continued. “They could have easily incapacitated Diggory without killing him, but instead he chose to have a boy murdered because he was in the way of the Dark Lord killing another boy who is only famous because he had failed to kill him once before. I understand now, even if my father does not, that all the Dark Lord wants is power, and he’s using people like my parents, whose blind hatred of muggles has allowed them to be manipulated into following a wizard who would sacrifice them in a second to save his own life.”

Draco closed his mouth when he realised he had been ranting. He couldn’t stop himself though; it was so good to finally verbalise what he’d been thinking for almost a year now.

George’s voice broke through his thoughts, “I’m going to write to you after I leave tomorrow.”

Draco had lost count of the number of times George Weasley had shocked him since their first proper meeting, but this statement really took first prize. All he could do was blurt, “What?!”

George chuckled at his shock; “I like you Malfoy. Now that we’ve actually spoken I realise you’re not a _total_ git, and it would be a shame if all of the hard work I’ve put into making you show the tolerable side of your personality was undone because I left school and you didn’t have anyone sane to talk to.”

Draco scoffed, “The day that you are considered sane will be the day Potter joins the Dark Lord. I would say pigs will fly, but you and your brother seem to have already accomplished that impossibility with your little fireworks display.”

George laughed properly this time, “I think flying pigs are far less of a miracle than a Weasley being friends with a Malfoy, but here we are.”

Seriously, if George kept surprising him like this then Draco wouldn't have to worry about his father discovering his change of allegiance, because he will have died of shock first.

“You think we’re friends?”

George grinned at him without hesitation, “Sure, why not?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, hoping the gesture would convey just how stupid he thought that statement to be; but George just laughed again, and Draco swore it was becoming infectious, because he felt the corners of his own mouth lifting in response.

“Malfoy, you should know by now that there’s nothing my brother and I like more than shocking people and defying their expectations,” he chuckled. “Once you get past the up-tight, prattish exterior you’re not such a bad person, and I’m going to write to you when I leave Hogwarts because you’re interesting and I’ll need a distraction from the numerous howler’s I will undoubtedly receive from my mother when she finds out what we’ve done.”

Draco rolled his eyes and spoke as though the prospect of staying in contact with George after the older boy left Hogwarts didn’t excite him.

“Fine Weasley, if you’re that desperate for intelligent conversation then I suppose I can humour you.”

“You are too gracious,” George replied, inclining his head in a mock bow.

“Besides,” he said with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Can you imagine the look on Ron’s face if he ever finds out?”

That did it. Draco burst into hysterical laughter at the mental image of the youngest Weasley boy discovering that his older brother was secret friends with his arch enemy. Draco laughed so hard and so long, that by the time he finally hiccupped himself into silence his stomach was cramped and tears of mirth were drying on his face. He looked up and noticed that George was looking at him with a gentle smile on his face that made Draco blush.

“What?”

George shook his head, but continued to smile. “You know, most people think Fred and I like jokes and pranks so much because they cause mischief and mayhem, but that’s not it. This is why we do it,” he said, gesturing at Draco, who frowned in confusion.

“We love making people laugh,” George elaborated. “There’s just something amazing about watching someone lose their composure and just be _happy_ ; especially when that person is someone like you, who’s usually so reserved.”

Draco cursed his pale skin for blushing so easily and avoided making eye contact with George, who just chuckled and stood, reaching a hand out to Draco, who used it to pull himself to his feet.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, still avoiding eye contact.

George clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Any time,” before walking to the staircase leading back to the main part of the castle.

Just before he descended the stairs George turned and called back, “Just so you know, I expect you to write me back!”

Without waiting for a reply, he left, leaving Draco laughing to himself on top of the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

 

Two days after George and Fred’s spectacular departure from Hogwarts the school was still buzzing, and Draco found it hard to stifle his laughter whenever he saw Umbridge or Filch looking frazzled from trying to remove the massive swamp flooding the third floor corridor.

It was especially hard to hide his glee today, with the letter he received at breakfast sitting in his pocket just waiting for him to return to his dorm and read it in private.

He almost sprinted through the dungeons and hurriedly gave the password to the wall at the entrance to the common room. It was a beautiful Sunday morning and most of Slytherin house were taking advantage of the weather to spend time outside, leaving the common room completely empty; so rather than going up to his dormitory, Draco took a seat in the leather armchair by the fireplace and used the flames as a reading light in the otherwise murky room.

Draco looked around the room one final time to ensure he was alone before he removed the letter from his jacket and took a moment to just look at his name written in the unfamiliar messy scrawl that he assumed belonged to George Weasley.

Never one for patience, Draco stopped staring at the paper and tore the envelope open. He unfolded the letter and began reading.

_Malfoy,_

_I promised to write, but now that I sit down I have no idea what to say. I considered forgetting about it and leaving you to your own devices, but I realised you’d probably like that and I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. I can actually imagine the smug look on your face if I never wrote, and even though I wouldn’t have to see it in person, I could not in good conscience submit the generally innocent student population of Hogwarts to an expansion of your already inflated ego- I fear the castle would not survive._

_Fred and I have moved into our new premises on Diagon Alley, and while the store itself is not up and running yet, our mail-order products are doing swimmingly. You’ll hate the store when it’s finished; it’s bright and loud and it aims to make other people happy, which I know annoys you._

_Fred is reading over my shoulder as I write and he wishes for me to tell you that he hopes you_ will _hate the finished store because the customers we’re aiming to attract don’t include slimy gits- his words, not mine- though I do agree that you can come across that  way. You should probably work on that if you want to make more friends as brilliant as me, though I warn you now that none of them will ever reach my level of sheer awesomeness._

_I can’t think of anything else that would interest you, but don’t take the lack of content in this letter as a reason to avoid writing back. I’m holding you to your promise, and I warn you that a failure to respond within a week will result in the delivery of some of our less desirable products. So unless you want to suddenly grow boils in a very unfortunate place (trust me when I say they will make sitting on a broom VERY uncomfortable), I suggest you continue our correspondence. I refuse to allow you to return to your pure-blood supremacist, prattish ways just because you don’t have me to vent to._

_Have fun at Hogwarts, I’m sure Umbridge has mellowed out and everything is well._

_George._

_PS: Did our portable swamp have the desired effect? I hope it gives that horrible Toad hell, and Filch too. Let me know if it disappears without warning, Fred and I want to make sure we got the enchantment right._

By the time he finished reading the letter, Draco’s face was hurting from the massive grin he hadn’t been able to get rid of since the first paragraph of George’s messy scrawl.

He couldn’t help himself, he read the letter again, and he was preparing to read it for a third time when he looked at his watch and noticed that he’d been sitting alone in the common room for almost an hour already. Draco knew that if he was gone much longer his house-mates would get suspicious, and the chances of someone coming into the common room and finding him grinning over a letter from a blood-traitor would increase. He tucked the letter into his pocket and tried to wipe the grin off of his face as he exited the dungeons and strode across the entrance hall.

He was nearing the doors to the grounds when he saw a group of fourth-year Gryffindor’s giggling around the muggle-born kid who was always following Potter around with a camera.

His curiosity piqued, Draco snuck over to the group, who were too busy laughing over what appeared to be a stack of photographs to notice his approach. Draco moved until he was directly behind Potter’s little follower and whispered in a menacing tone, “Well, well, what do we have here?”

All of the kids jumped, and one of them even let out a high pitched squeak. Draco had to fight to keep his menacing scowl from morphing into a smile; there wasn’t much he enjoyed more than intimidating little Gryffindor’s.

He looked at the ringleader, Draco was sure his name started with an F, or a C or something, and held out his hand.

“Hand them over,” he demanded, gesturing at the photos.

The kid passed them over and Draco looked down. He had to physically bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning when he saw that the pictures were of Filch and Umbridge trying to get rid of George and Fred’s swamp. Umbridge looked frustrated and harried- the bow on top of her head was crooked, her pink cardigan was stained with swamp scum and curls were sticking up from her head haphazardly.

Draco looked at the group of frightened Gryffindor’s and tried to keep a straight face. He scowled and said, “I am confiscating these photographs. Unless you want to lose ten house points each, I suggest you scram.”

The Gryffindor’s didn’t need telling twice; they ran across the hall and out into the grounds. Draco smiled and chuckled to himself. He pocketed the photos and turned to make his way back to the dungeons, all thoughts of meeting his house-mates gone. He had a letter to write.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco sat curled in a chair by the window in his bedroom, which is how he’d spent most his summer holidays so far. Summer at Malfoy Manor had never been particularly exciting, but with his father in Azkaban and his mother’s psychotic older sister staying with them, this summer was certainly turning out to be worse than any other.

His mother spent most of her time moping around the house, seeming to be perpetually miserable in his father's absence. In contrast, his Aunt Bellatrix was ecstatic and she spent all of her free time lecturing Draco on the importance of behaving in a manner appropriate for his superior blood-status and on the privilege of following the Dark Lord. Draco didn’t know what the woman would do if she ever discovered that he had spent the better part of six months in correspondence with a known blood-traitor and supporter of Harry Potter, but he didn’t want to find out. The prospect of discovery wasn’t going to stop him from writing to George though, they were just being more careful with their letters now- every one of George's letters was delivered in the guise of a potions recipe and only revealed its true content at the tap of Draco's wand.

Draco was reading George’s most recent letter now, deeming it safe to do so with his bedroom door closed and locked. The letter was as entertaining as usual, and George had attached a photograph of the front window display of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, which Draco was sure was going to get the twins killed in under a week. He was preparing to write just that in response when his doorknob rattled loudly, someone clearly trying to get in.

Draco tapped the letter from George with his wand, returning it to the state it had been delivered in. Just to be safe, he crossed the room and shoved the letter under the pillow on his bed before he called out: “Who is it?”

“It’s your Auntie,” spoke the terrifying, sing-song voice of Bellatrix from the corridor. “Come downstairs Draco, we have a surprise for you!”

He heard her footsteps skip back down the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn’t ignore his Aunt though, so he unlocked his door and followed her to the dining room downstairs.

Draco entered the room to see his Aunt and Mother sitting at the table, with a cloaked figure filling the chair normally reserved for his Father, at the head of the table. When Draco realised who the figure was, he froze in the doorway, terrified. Picking up on his obvious reluctance, a long, pale finger appeared from within the cloak and beckoned him forward. Draco looked to his mother in question, but she avoided his eyes.

“Come, Draco,” demanded a soft voice, and Draco found himself compelled to obey. He entered the room fully and took a seat next to the Dark Lord, who peered at Draco from under his hood with piercing red eyes. Draco found it impossible to maintain eye contact with the man, and instead concentrated his gaze on where his own hands were folded in his lap.

“I hear you do very well in school Draco,” said that same smooth voice. “Severus Snape assures me you are one of his best students.”

Draco forced a small smile onto his face, “Thank you my Lord.”

The Dark Lord inclined his head in acknowledgement before continuing; “It grieves me that Harry Potter and his friends were able to gain assistance from the Order of the Phoenix in the Department of Mysteries,” he said. “I was not anticipating this turn of events, and I apologise for the inconvenience it has caused your family to have your father imprisoned.”

Draco could almost taste the man’s insincerity, but he nodded and said what he knew was expected of him; “No apology necessary my Lord, I am proud that my father was fighting for such a noble cause.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at Draco, and he knew this was where the real reason for the Dark Lord’s visit would become apparent.

“And do you support this cause yourself Draco?” the dark wizard asked.

While he knew there was no way the Dark Lord could possibly know that he didn’t support him in the slightest, Draco felt his heart seize in his chest.

“Of course my Lord,” Draco assured him, hiding all of his doubts in the back of his mind and injecting as much sincerity into his voice as possible.

The Dark Lord grinned, and it was anything but reassuring.

“And how far will you be willing to go to support me and our cause?” he asked.

Suddenly, Draco knew why the Dark Lord was here, and he wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could until he was safe from the man in front of him; but he knew that, if he even thought of running, there would be no place in the world he could hide where this man would not find him. So, he forced himself to look into those piercing ruby eyes and spoke as sincerely as he could.

“As far as is necessary, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord grinned, and Draco had to suppress a shiver at the sight.

“Good,” he murmured. “Raise the sleeve on your left arm please, Draco.”

Draco knew what was about to happen, and he wasn’t entirely able to stop his hand from shaking as he carefully rolled up his left sleeve, exposing his forearm. He didn’t want this at all, but he knew that to admit it would be to forfeit his own life, and, quite possibly, his mother’s as well- she still hadn’t looked at him since he entered the room and Draco couldn’t help but feel betrayed that she hadn’t at least warned him this was coming so he could prepare himself.

This action would be considered a great honour by any true follower of the Dark Lord, so Draco tried to disguise the nervous shaking in his hands as excitement. He widened his eyes and stared at the Dark Lord in false awe.

Fortunately, the Dark Lord seemed to like what he saw, and he reached out to grasp Draco’s arm.

“Do you know what I am about to do Draco?”

Draco nodded, “I do my Lord, and I am honoured beyond words.”

Apparently even the world’s darkest wizard was susceptible to flattery, because that comment elicited a smaller, marginally less terrifying, smile from the snake-like man, and he drew his wand.

Draco fought hard to stop himself from flinching and pulling his arm from the cold grip. He knew that, if he didn’t do this, he would have nowhere else to go. The only person he could trust, aside from his family, was George Weasley, and Draco would never run to him for something like this. The Dark Lord would certainly find him, and he would have to live with the knowledge that his selfishness had lead to the deaths of George and Fred, as well as himself and his family. At least this option, while painful and miserable for him, did not put anyone he loved in any greater danger than they were already in.

The Dark Lord pressed his wand to the skin of Draco’s forearm and began mouthing a spell as he drew the outline of a Dark Mark on Draco’s skin with his wand. The pain was excruciating, and Draco had to bite his lip to prevent a cry of pain from escaping as the Dark Mark burned itself into his skin.

As the enchantment progressed the pain became worse, and Draco tasted blood in his mouth as his teeth pierced his lip and his eyes rolled back in his head. As the Dark Lord completed the mark by drawing the snake coming from the skull’s mouth, the pain became unbearable and Draco couldn’t stop himself from crying out before his vision finally faded to black.

The last thought that travelled through Draco’s mind as he passed out was, _‘George is never going to speak to me again.’_


	8. Chapter 8

When Draco regained consciousness he was in his own bed. His head was throbbing and his arm felt even worse. He groaned and pulled his covers over his head to block out the shaft of light that was coming into the room through the gap in his curtains. He curled into a ball and tried to convince himself that he was waking up from a bad dream- that everything that had happened last night was a nightmare stemming from his own worst fears.

It took him a while to muster up the courage, but he trailed the fingers of his right hand down his throbbing left arm and, just as he began to hope he would feel nothing but smooth skin, his fingers met the soft edge of a bandage. What he’d been dreading was now a reality, and Draco allowed himself to let out a single loud sob at how much his life had changed in so little time.

Before his Aunt had ordered him downstairs Draco had been reading a letter from George Weasley, who he had only become closer to in the past few months, despite not having seen each other in person since the twins had made their dramatic exit from Hogwarts. With George’s help Draco had come to terms with the fact that he had no interest in actively following his parents’ path in life; but, with just one visit, the Dark Lord had managed to ruin everything. With the Dark Mark on his arm, no member of the Order of the Phoenix would accept Draco if he pleaded for sanctuary, and no one else would be capable of, let alone interested in, keeping him safe from the Dark Lord if he tried to run away.

Being forced into a life he didn’t want wasn’t the worst of it, either. With this horrid mark on his arm Draco knew there was no way George would want anything to do with him anymore. It had taken so long for them to become friends in the first place, and having the Dark Mark was such irrefutable proof of following the Dark Lord that Draco doubted even George would believe him if he said he hadn’t asked for it. It was unlikely George would want to continue their friendship, let alone pursue something more, which is where Draco is sure they’d been heading before this mess.

Even if Draco did manage to convince George to keep being his friend, staying in contact with him would be infinitely more dangerous for the other boy now that Draco was technically a Death Eater. He would have to be more vocal in his support of the Dark Lord, and he was sure he would be watched far more closely than he had been before. The Dark Lord wouldn’t risk Draco's loyalty straying now that he had been accepted into the inner circle of his followers.

Draco curled up even tighter under his covers. Actively joining the Death Eaters was so far from what he had wanted to do with his life, and he had no idea how he was going to be able to continue the charade of agreeing with all of the lies the Dark Lord and his followers spouted.

Draco wrapped his arm around his pillow and his hand came in contact with a piece of paper. He lifted it out and recognised it as the potions recipe that disguised George’s letter.

Draco felt a tear slip silently from his eye as he remembered what George had written. There was nothing particularly special about this letter; but, like all of George’s letters, it had helped Draco forget about the horrendous turn his life had taken lately. He didn’t know if George realised it, but the boy’s dream of making people happy had been entirely successful in Draco’s case.

Draco really didn’t want to give this up. What he wanted was to get a quill and parchment and write to George immediately to tell him everything that had happened.

But, what Draco wanted didn’t matter anymore, because he _couldn’t_ risk George’s life by continuing their correspondence. On top of that, he didn’t ever want to find out for sure if the Dark Mark would have been the final straw that caused George to lose faith in him. It would be better to sever all ties now- that way he would at least have control of when and how his last chance at happiness disappeared forever.

While his resolve was still strong, Draco crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it from the sanctuary of his covers- where he couldn’t reach it without leaving his bed, which he didn't have the willpower to do at the moment. Instead, he curled himself up as tight as possible, buried his face in the pillow and tried as hard as he could to pretend his world wasn’t crumbling around him.

He didn’t know how long he lay curled under his blankets before he heard the soft click of his door being opened.

“Draco?” whispered his Mother.

Draco’s only response was to curl up even tighter. He heard his door click closed and hoped that meant she’d gone away, but soon enough he heard soft footsteps crossing the room, and felt the mattress dip as his Mother sat on the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder through the blanket.

He didn’t acknowledge her presence; he couldn’t forget how she had refused to look at him when he was being interrogated by the Dark Lord. Draco knew she had been upset and stressed since his Father was imprisoned, but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed that she hadn’t said anything, or at least warned him of what was coming. His parents had always been open with him in their support of the Dark Lord and his ideals, but Draco had foolishly believed that when the time came, because he had always known that it would, he would have a choice as to whether he would follow in their footsteps. Clearly he had been wrong.

Despite his lack of response, Narcissa left her hand on Draco’s shoulder and gently stroked his arm.

“Draco?” she asked again, but this time she apparently took his lack of answer as permission to continue. “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you my darling, but I honestly thought you’d be pleased.”

Draco tensed under her hand and replied, voice muffled by the blankets, “What on earth gave you that idea, Mother?”

He could tell she was shocked by his bluntness, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

“Well, I know your Father’s capture has been hard on you,” she said. “I just thought you’d like this opportunity to keep your mind off of things and continue the work your Father began.”

Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up quickly, uncaring of the fact that his eyes were red and his hair was mussed from the blanket. He looked into his Mother’s eyes, taking some pleasure from the fact that his rumpled appearance seemed to shock her.

“Did you ever consider the possibility that I might not want to follow in Father’s footsteps?” he asked. “I know you and Father have had a lot on your minds in the last year, but do you truly pay me so little attention that you haven’t noticed that the thought of being in service to the Dark Lord absolutely petrifies me?”

His Mother looked shocked at his outburst, “But you always agreed with your Father- and your friends-”

Draco cut her off; “Mother, I love you and Father very much, and I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said gently. “I know I should have worked up the courage to tell you this before, but this is something I’ve known I didn’t want for a while now.”

His Mother still looked shocked, but now she also appeared to be on the edge of tears, and Draco forced himself to finish his tirade before he broke down as well; “And as for friends, I feel like I’ve outgrown the company of my housemates, not that I would tell them that, and I’ve actually made some new friends in the last couple of months.”

Narcissa furrowed her brows, “Who?”

Draco shook his head, definitely on the verge of tears now.

“I can’t tell you, and you wouldn’t approve,” he whispered. “But it doesn’t matter now, because when they find out about this they’re never going to speak to me again.”

Draco’s voice broke on the end of the sentence. He couldn’t hold back a sob at what receiving the Dark Mark had cost him, and he finally allowed himself to be enveloped in his Mother’s embrace as he cried into her shoulder.

His Mother hugged him tightly and rocked him gently from side to side.

“I’m so sorry my darling,” she whispered into his hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Eventually, Draco’s tears stopped and he pulled away from his Mother to wipe his eyes. She gently cupped his cheek and tilted his face upwards until he was looking into her eyes.

“I am sorry Draco,” she whispered, genuinely sincere. “I didn’t know.”

Draco gave her a watery smile, “I know Mother, and it’s not your fault. The Dark Lord would have made up his mind to ask me before he said anything to you, and he would have threatened you and Father if I’d tried to refuse. I knew this would happen eventually, I guess I just hoped I would have more time.”

“Even so, I am sorry this has brought you so much pain,” she said. “And I’m sorry about your friends. Are you sure they won’t approve?”

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t imagine that even George would go so far as to remain friends with a confirmed Death Eater.

“Well then I’m sorry sweetheart,” said Narcissa.

“It’s alright Mother,” he assured her. “It had to end sometime; we’re from completely different worlds. I suppose it’s less painful to cut ties now than it would be to do it later anyway.”

His Mother wrapped him in her arms again.

“If they can’t accept you for who you are then they don’t deserve you sweetheart,” she murmured.

Draco sobbed once, “I love you Mum.”

Narcissa hugged him tighter, “I love you too sweetheart.”

* * *

 

George paced the floor of his and Fred’s apartment above the store. He’d sent Draco two letters in as many weeks and received nothing in reply, and he couldn’t hide his fear that something had happened to the younger boy to stop him from writing.

Fred came trudging up the stairs and rolled his eyes when he saw George.

“Let it go Georgie,” he sighed. “The kid probably got bored, or remembered he was corresponding with a filthy blood-traitor or something.”

Fred had been using similar arguments to try and calm George down ever since his second letter had gone unanswered last week.

“I can’t let it go Fred,” he said without slowing his pacing. “He would have told me if he was going to stop, if only to rub it in my face. What if his family found out he was talking to me? I don’t think Bellatrix Lestrange would take kindly to her nephew consorting with the enemy.”

Fred rolled his eyes again. “George, let’s be realistic here,” he reasoned. “If the Malfoy’s had found out about your little pen-pal arrangement we would know about it, because they would have turned up on our doorstep and hexed you into oblivion for corrupting their perfect child.”

That thought was the only thing that had kept George from apparating to Malfoy Manor to check on Draco himself, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco wasn’t ignoring him by his own choice.

Fred crossed the room to stand in front of him, forcing him to stop pacing. His brother gently grasped his shoulders and looked into his eyes, for once completely serious.

“I know you don’t want to hear this George,” he said, “But Malfoy is and always has been a git. It’s a thousand times more likely that this nice guy thing of his was just a phase, or his conscience temporarily getting the better of him, and now he’s grown out of it and just stopped writing to you.”

Fred was right, it did hurt to hear it, but he knew that this was the most likely scenario. He was just disappointed- in Draco, and in himself- for having believed that the Malfoy boy had changed for the better.

Fred must have seen the reluctant acceptance in his eyes, because he pulled him in for a quick but comforting hug.

“Do you want to come and help me work on some of the new products?” he asked. “You’ll probably have the chance to make something explode, and if we see the Malfoy git any time soon, I promise I’ll help you slip him a puking pastille.”

George couldn’t help but chuckle at Fred’s antics. His twin knew him better than anyone else and he could always count on Fred to make him feel better- just as he knew Fred counted on him for the same thing.

“Alright,” he grinned. “But you’re testing any prototypes we finish.”

Fred laughed, “Deal!”


	9. Chapter 9

Draco had hardly left his room in the two weeks since he had received the Dark Mark- exiting only to use the bathroom and to attend the family dinners his Mother insisted on. His Aunt was apparently too busy doing the Dark Lord’s bidding to attend the dinners, which was fortunate, because Draco didn’t think he could fake agreement with her psychotic rants and blind belief in the Dark Lord at the moment; it was hard enough dealing with his Mother’s stilted, guilty attempts at small talk without adding his insane Aunt to the mix.

The only positive in Draco’s life at the moment was that the burning pain where the Dark Mark had been seared onto his skin had finally dissipated to the point that he could use his arm without pain shooting from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder joint with every little movement.

Although the pain was receding, Draco still refused to remove the bandages from his forearm. Seeing the mark imprinted on his skin would make the whole thing seem so much more real, and he just wasn’t ready to face that yet.

Proving that his string of bad luck had yet to end, his musings were interrupted by his previously absent Aunt, who opened his door without knocking and demanded he come downstairs immediately.

“And take this ridiculous thing off your arm,” she demanded, tearing at the bandage covering his Dark Mark until it fell to the floor.

Draco flinched and discretely rolled his sleeve down to cover the mark before following her downstairs.

He felt a strange sense of dejavu when he followed Bellatrix into the dining room to be greeted by the sight of his mother and the Dark Lord already seated at the table.

Draco let out a quiet sigh and prepared himself to listen to more insane ranting’s from the madman who had ruined his life.

He inclined his head and, ignoring every one of his screaming instincts, took the seat closest to the Dark Lord, and he made sure to inject as much sincerity into his voice as he could when he spoke.

“It is a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon My Lord.”

“Indeed,” murmured the Dark Lord, with a tone that suggested he would rather be anywhere else. Draco was sure the man would have looked down his nose at him, if he’d had a nose that was.

Draco had to stifle a smile at the thought, and then he found himself picturing the Dark Lord with a regular human nose and he had to bite his tongue to keep the neutral expression on his face. He had clearly spent far too much time interacting with George Weasley. Thinking of George, and the fact that he would probably never see him again, was enough to sober his thoughts, and he tuned back in to what the Dark Lord was saying.

“I trust your mark has taken by now?” he questioned.

Draco nodded and, knowing that his word wouldn’t be enough, he rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and bared the mark for the first time since he had received it. He struggled not to flinch at the sight of the harsh black ink marring the pale skin of his previously unblemished arm.

The Dark Lord grasped his wrist and tugged on his arm to get a closer look. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he returned Draco’s arm to his lap. His fingers lingered a lot longer than Draco was comfortable with, and he had to force himself to supress a shiver of revulsion at the prolonged contact.

The Dark Lord seemed to take some kind of sick pleasure in his unease, but he did eventually release Draco’s hand and lean back in his chair.

“I have a task for you Draco,” he said, getting to the real reason for his second visit to Malfoy Manor within a week.

Draco furrowed his brows. He had no idea what he could possibly do that would be of use to the darkest wizard of their age, but he was certain that, whatever it was, he would not enjoy doing it. Voicing those thoughts aloud would only anger the Dark Lord though, so Draco chose to lie through his teeth instead.

“I would be honoured to assist you in any task you require of me, My Lord.”

The dark wizard smiled, “Good, good. What I would like is for you to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

Draco couldn’t control his response. He heard his mother stifle a shriek and even Bellatrix’s eyes had widened in surprise, but over all of that came Draco’s choked voice, “I can’t do that!”

Bellatrix squeaked in outrage at his outright insubordination, and the Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Draco realised he had made a grave mistake, and backtracked quickly.

“What I meant, My Lord, is that I thought you wanted the honour of killing Professor Dumbledore for yourself?”

The flattery seemed to appease the Dark Lord for the moment, but the suspicious glint in his eye didn't disappear completely, and Draco knew he would have to be very careful what he said for the rest of the Dark Lord's visit, lest he arouse further suspicion of his loyalty.

“I would greatly like the opportunity to kill Albus Dumbledore myself Draco,” he said. “Unfortunately, the Hogwarts grounds are too well warded for me to gain entrance without alerting the authorities. With Dumbledore out of the way however, there will be far fewer obstacles between myself and the true threat to our cause- Harry Potter."

Draco nearly rolled his eyes at the thought that the most powerful dark wizard of their age considered Potter to be a bigger threat than Dumbledore, but he kept his mind and his expression blank as the Dark Lord continued explaining his ridiculous request.

"You are the only one of my loyal followers with the means and opportunity gain access to Hogwarts, and therefore Albus Dumbledore, without arising suspicion. Therefore, what I require of you is to figure out a way for a group of your fellow Death Eater’s to gain entry to Hogwarts before the end of the school year and, at the same time, discover a method of assassination for Dumbledore.”

Draco swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat and forced himself to speak.

“I am honoured that you have entrusted such an important task with me, My Lord. I will do my best to ensure I do not fail you.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and when he spoke the threat in his voice was thinly veiled at best, “See that you do not.”

With that lovely parting threat the Dark Lord rose from his chair and exited the manor, Bellatrix scampering after him like a loyal hound.

When he was sure the dark wizard was gone, Draco dragged his hands through his hair roughly. He saw his mother open her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand to silence her, for once uncaring that he was being rude.

He took a deep breath, stood from the table, and slowly made his way upstairs to his room, where he closed the door softly, laid down on his bed, covered his face with a pillow and screamed.

Draco lost track of how long he had been in his room. All he knew was the he had screamed and screamed until his voice cracked and his throat refused to produce any more noise. Then he had simply lain on his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, totally consumed by fear at the choice that faced him.

He heard the muffled sounds of his mother and aunt arguing downstairs, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to listen in properly. Eventually he heard them leave together, and the ensuing silence allowed him to finally gather his thoughts.

He tried to figure out if there was a way he could get out of the Dark Lord’s task that wouldn’t end in the immediate, violent deaths of himself and the people he loved, but he drew a complete blank. His thoughts moved frantically, but he just couldn’t think of any way an insignificant sixteen year old could outwit the darkest wizard of all time. He needed help, but he had no one to ask it from; the only person who would even consider helping him out of this situation was his mother, but with both of them in such close proximity to Death Eaters on a regular basis it would be impossible for them to hide any insubordination. Not to mention the fact that no member of the Order of the Phoenix would listen to either one of them if they tried to warn them of the Dark Lord’s plans.

What he really needed was an ally who was already anti-Dark Lord, but his unfriendly personality so far meant that all of his school 'friends' were either the children of Death Eaters or sympathetic to the Dark Lord’s cause.

The only person who sprung to mind that would be willing to at least consider helping him was George, but Draco squashed that thought the second it came into his mind. He had already made his decision regarding George Weasley, and he would not go back on it just because he had gotten himself in trouble. Involving George in this mess would just put the other boy in danger, and that was the last thing Draco wanted.

He wouldn’t risk George’s life, and he couldn’t trust anyone else to help him find a solution to this problem, so it looked like Draco was on his own once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering where the timeline of this story is up to in relation to the books, Narcissa and Bellatrix just left to go and convince Snape to help Draco with his task- so we're at the very beginning of the Half Blood Prince.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update guys! I know I promised a new chapter every week at the beginning of this fic, but I got super busy with uni and I just didn't have time to update that often.  
> Fortunately, I'm on break for the moment, so hopefully I can get a few more chapters up for you before I have to go back for semester 2 :)
> 
> I just want to say a huge thank you to the few of you who have commented, even while I was in my updating slump. You guys are the reason I find the motivation to keep on going with this story and I'll always be super grateful for that!
> 
> Also, one last thing, but I'm sorry this chapter might seem a bit anti-climactic after such a long wait, but it's essential for setting the scene for the next few chapters, which is where it really starts to get interesting!

In the weeks following the Dark Lord’s second visit, Draco tried desperately to think of a plan that would help him avoid murdering his headmaster and endangering the lives of his fellow students, and more importantly, that would minimise the chances of he and his family being brutally killed. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much success.

He had never had to organise his life around murder before, and he didn’t plan on starting now—and certainly not with Dumbledore, who probably had the ability to turn Draco into a bug to be squashed under his foot without so much as drawing his wand. Not to mention the fact that Professor Dumbledore was the only real chance the wizarding world had of defeating the Dark Lord, and thus of saving Draco from the horrific future that faced him as a member of the Dark Lords so-called elite. Everyone raved about Potter being the Chosen One and everything, but even the Boy Who Lived wouldn’t stand a chance without Dumbledore; he was only a teenager who had managed to escape the Dark Lord so far through sheer dumb luck and the help of adult wizards more powerful than him. Draco certainly couldn’t rely on Potter to help him with this, even if he had been prepared to stoop so low as to ask the prat.

The only plan Draco had thought up that even came close to having a chance at working was to tell Dumbledore about the Dark Lord's plan and ask for his help. He wasn’t particularly keen on that idea though, because, no matter how much Draco liked Professor Snape, he had absolutely no idea whose side the man was really on, and Dumbledore trusted Snape so much that he’d tell the Potions master what Draco was up to in a heartbeat. If Professor Dumbledore’s faith in Snape was as misplaced as the potions master would have the Dark Lord believe, then it wouldn’t be long before the Dark Lord heard of his betrayal, in which case Draco would find himself on the wrong end of a killing curse faster than he could fall to his knees and grovel for his own life. Unlike Saint Potter, Draco didn’t really fancy his chances of surviving the ordeal, so he'd scrapped that idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind.

With the plan to avoid the task of murdering his Headmaster in cold blood going nowhere, Draco chose to shift his focus onto just how he was going to sneak a group of Death Eaters into the most well-protected building in England, with the possible exception of Gringotts.  It would be an added bonus if he could manage to sneak them in without anyone inside the school being seriously injured or killed, but considering the kinds of people the Dark Lord allowed into his inner circle, the odds really weren’t in his favour there.

Failing to think of anything useful on that front either, Draco grew bored of pondering his impending doom and decided to pause his planning for a moment. He crawled under his bed and pried a small box full of George’s letters from its hiding place under his mattress. He knew he should burn the papers, just in case they were found, but he hadn’t been able to persuade himself to do it. They were excellent at putting him in a good mood (even though most of the content involved insults to his looks, personality and intelligence), and reading them always made him think about how much he missed their regular correspondence.

Draco thought back to the first time he’d approached the twins, and considered how far they’d come since he’d insulted their entire family and they’d threatened to stuff him into a vanishing cabinet.

That thought made Draco sit up straight. The vanishing cabinet on the third floor that the twins had apparently shoved Montague into just last year bore an uncanny resemblance to the antique cabinet in the front display at Borgin and Burkes.

Draco’s mind whirled as he tried to work out how to make sure the cabinets really were twins, and where he could move the Hogwarts cabinet to so that no one would become suspicious of him spending all of his free time lurking in the corridor in front of a filthy old cupboard.

Of course, if the cabinets were twins then he would have to think of a way to fix the connection between them so that the Death Eaters they were supposed to be transporting into the castle didn’t instead spend weeks stuck in limbo between the two locations before eventually turning up completely mind-addled in one of the school toilets. Those setbacks were minor though, and he was sure he could fix them with relatively little trouble. Mostly he was just relieved that he now had something resembling a halfway decent plan that he could bring to the Dark Lord without being fed to that horrible snake that followed him everywhere. At the very least it would prove that he was working on something; and, hopefully the excuse of fixing the cabinets would buy him enough time to think of a plan to worm his way out of killing Dumbledore that wouldn’t end in his own life being forfeited in the older man’s place. He didn’t want the Dark Lord to win this war, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to sacrifice his own life so Dumbledore could continue to help Potter and co. He wasn’t that selfless.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!! VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!  
> I want you to know that there are some SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter. Please make sure you read the tags for this story, and just in case you're unsure I will leave a more detailed description of the possible triggers in the end note, just to avoid spoilers for those of you who don't need them.  
> If you think that you may be triggered by this chapter, then please do not read it! The last thing I want is for any of you lovely people to be hurt, so please take care <3

Draco just sat on top of the Astronomy Tower staring in to space.

At the beginning of the school year he had been so optimistic. In his eyes, all he would have to do was make a few bogus attempts on Professor Dumbledore’s life and work on fixing the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement, and in the meantime Dumbledore and Potter would defeat the Dark Lord and this whole war debacle would be over before the summer break; but none of that had come to pass.

In hindsight, Draco knew that it had been incredibly optimistic and naïve of him to believe that he could outsmart the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was anything but stupid, and he hadn’t become as powerful as he was by providing easy opportunities for his two biggest enemies to assassinate him. Even in his darkest nightmares though, Draco never could have imagined things going this badly.

In less than half a year he had made some progress in repairing the vanishing cabinet he would inevitably be forced to use to transport the Death Eaters to Hogwarts, and in between that progress he had also managed to near-fatally curse or poison two innocent Hogwarts students who had done nothing more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Potter hadn’t been there both times, then Draco was sure he would now have the deaths of Katie Bell and the Weasel on his hands. Even as he was sitting here the youngest Weasley boy was lying in the Hospital Wing recovering.

Draco blinked back tears at the thought that his terrible plan had almost led to the deaths of two innocent people, and people that George loved at that. It seemed as though, ever since he had made up his mind to go against the Dark Lord’s orders in secret, all he had done was hurt people and make himself miserable. He was starting to regret that he hadn’t just ended his own life the moment he was forced to take the dark mark and spared everyone else this suffering.

He knew it was drastic and cowardly, but Draco was starting to think it might be his only viable option right now. The only positive thing he had had in his life over the last year was George Weasley, and that relationship had ended at his own hand nearly six months ago. Despite his conviction to forget about George, for both of their own good’s, Draco couldn’t stop thinking about the other boy. The added stress of agonising over the friendship this whole scheme had lost him only made everything worse, and Draco just didn’t think he was strong enough to handle it on his own anymore.

Draco dug his fingers into his thigh as hard as he could to keep himself from screaming out loud as his imagination provided him with an image of the rage that would undoubtedly appear on George’s face when he realised what Draco had done. Draco had hurt so many people in his life with so little regret, so why was it that he had suddenly developed a conscience? He didn’t want to blame it all on George, honestly, this conscience thing had been developing longer than they’d been friends—he wouldn’t have approached the twins in the first place if it hadn’t; but it couldn’t be denied that his favourite Weasley (not that there was much competition) had definitely changed him over the last year, and Draco liked to think he was a better person for having had the other man in his life.

The fact remained though, that Draco’s stupid scheme to betray the Dark Lord wasn’t just affecting his own life anymore. He wasn’t just putting himself in danger here—already, two innocent people had been caught in the crossfire and had their lives permanently changed. So Draco couldn’t deny that so far, no matter how good his long-term intentions were, his plan had done more harm than good, and he couldn’t see its prospects improving all that much in the near future. Perhaps it would be better if he ended his own life right now, before the Dark Lord inevitably heard of his betrayal and tortured him for information before submitting him to a slow and painful death.

Draco looked down. It was a long way to the ground from the top of the Astronomy Tower, and he was sure that, if he were to jump from here, he would die on impact. It would be over quickly; he would feel little to no pain and he would spare the people he loved further suffering at his hands.

The image of himself being killed by the Dark Lord was replaced by that of his Mother being tortured at the dark wizard’s hands for her son’s betrayal, and then of George dying after Draco was inevitably forced into revealing his role in the betrayal.

Draco was infinitely glad that he hadn’t eaten lunch that afternoon, as he dry-retched over the precipice of the Astronomy Tower at the vivid images his mind had conjured up. Draco knew that he would rather die a thousand torturous deaths than see either of those premonitions come to pass, and, mind made up, he released his wand from where it had been gripped tightly in his shaking hands and watched it plummet to the bottom of the tower. Without it in his hand he couldn’t be tempted to save himself as he plummeted to his death.

Looking down at where his wand was resting peacefully in the grass below, Draco knew that his body would not look so peaceful after he had fallen, and he hesitated for a moment at the choice that lay before him. When the violent images of the Dark Lord murdering George and his Mother reappeared in his mind, however, his resolve hardened and he swung one leg over the only barrier standing between him and his impending demise.

Draco swung his other leg over the wall and leaned forward, feeling a few seconds of sweeping vertigo as he closed his eyes and tilted his body forward, content in the knowledge that his death would save the people he loved.

He thought he heard footsteps thumping behind him, but he convinced himself that it was just the pounding of his heart in his ears as he leaned forward and let go.

There was a terrifying second of free-fall before something jerked his robes roughly, causing them to dig painfully into his neck, and firmly tugged him back over the railing, where he ended up sprawled messily on a warm body.

He didn’t have long to orient himself, however, because whoever he had landed on rolled out from underneath him until his back was pressed to the cool stone of the tower floor and the stranger was straddling his waist. Large hands came up to grip his shoulders, and shook him roughly.

“What in Merlin’s name did you think you were doing?!”

It was taking a while for Draco’s mind to catch up with the fact that he was not dead, but recognised that voice and the flash of red hair that went with it almost instantly.

“George?” He mumbled. “What are you doing here? You don’t go to school anymore.”

His vision started to clear and he saw George properly for the first time in months. The other boy did not look happy. He was bent over Draco, gripping his shoulders tight enough to cause pain, and there was a vicious scowl on his face, though Draco noticed that his eyes looked scared. That fear didn’t seem to have stopped his ability to shout though.

“I was visiting my brother, you stupid git,” he snarled. “And a good thing too apparently, since if I hadn’t come looking for you after Madame Pomfrey kicked us out of the Hospital Wing then you’d be nothing more than a pile of goo at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower right now!”

Draco frowned in confusion at George’s implication that that outcome would have been a bad thing, “So?”

In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say to an enraged George Weasley, but in Draco's defence, he really wasn’t thinking straight and so he was taken completely off-guard when George’s fist smashed into his face. Draco was in so much shock he barely even registered the pain. George had refused to hit him when he offered him a free shot after insulting the boy and his entire family, but when he tries to end his own life to make up for very nearly killing George’s little brother and putting the entire wizarding community in danger, that’s when George hits him? Draco had thought George was different, but apparently he was just as strange and impossible to understand as the rest of his family.

Apparently he had said all of that out loud, because George, who was still sitting on top of him, was just gaping down at Draco as though he couldn’t comprehend his stupidity.

“Why would you ever think that throwing yourself off of the Astronomy Tower would make me happy in any way?”

Draco just stared blankly at George, still not quite understanding what was going on.

George shook his head and climbed off of Draco. Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face and paced across the tower. Every now and then he would open his mouth as if to say something, but he never did, and after a while Draco stopped paying attention and leaned back to look at the sky. He let his mind drift to the rhythmic sound of George's pacing as he watched the light fade as the sun moved closer to the horizon.

Draco didn’t know how long he lay there, but he was roused by George’s voice and a hand shaking his shoulder. He squinted at George in confusion, _‘When did he get here?’,_ before the events of the last hour came rushing back and he sat up with a gasp, chest heaving as he realised what he’d almost done.

Draco looked at George, whose eyes were shining in concern, but he was breathing too hard to force any words from his mouth.

George seemed to understand though, and he just pulled Draco to his chest and held him tightly. Draco buried his face in George’s shirt and gripped him desperately as he sobbed.

He couldn’t believe he had almost thrown himself to his death. If George had arrived only a few seconds later then Draco wouldn’t exist right now and what was left of his body would be lying broken on the grass at the bottom of the tower waiting to be found by some poor unsuspecting student in the morning.

Draco couldn’t believe that one stupid decision had almost ended his life, and the worst part was that he could barely even remember making it. He struggled to breathe through his terror that things would keep getting worse and he’d try this again, but this time George wouldn’t be around to stop it.

“I don’t want to die,” he sobbed into George’s shoulder, just needing him to understand. “I don’t want to die, but I can’t keep hurting people like this.”

George didn’t say anything; he just held Draco tighter and rocked him like a child. He knew he should protest this treatment, but Draco had never felt safer than he did in that very moment. He wished he could stay here forever, in George’s arms, where there was no Dark Lord and Draco didn’t have to keep up the farce of following him.

Eventually Draco calmed down. His breathing evened and his tears dried up, but he didn’t move from where he was straddling George’s waist, head tucked under the older boy’s chin.

“I’m so sorry George,” he whispered into the other boy's collarbone. “It’s no secret I’ve never liked your brother, but you have to know I’d never actually want him dead.”

George shifted them slightly so he was looking Draco in the eye; “I know that,” he said, completely sincere.

George was looking directly into Draco’s eyes and his gaze was so intense Draco actually felt himself begin to blush.

George had been the only good thing in his life for so long, and Draco had been so grateful just to have his friendship that he had never allowed himself to entertain the possibility of something more; but with the way George was looking at him now Draco wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them. He leaned forward, but managed to restrain himself at the last moment, his forehead pressed against George’s with their eyes still locked, and in that moment he could not for the life of him remember why he’d severed all communication with this man in the first place.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he whispered.

George’s eyes softened and he smirked, “Most people don’t.”

Draco huffed in disgust and leaned back.

“Well done George,” he joked. “We were having a moment and you ruined it.”

George chuckled, “I was doing you a favour Draco,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the first person to flail in the face of the sheer perfection that is George Weasley. I was just making sure you didn’t stop breathing or something equally dramatic. You and I both know you never miss an opportunity for drama.”

Draco laughed almost hysterically; the irony of George’s statement, considering recent events, was incredible. George seemed to reach the same conclusion, because the smile fell from his face.

“You know I don’t-” he stuttered and had visibly collected himself. “I don’t really know what to do without you either Draco.”

“George-” Draco started, but he was cut off.

“No, I just-”

Draco had never seen the other boy have so much trouble talking, but here he was, stuttering and rubbing his hands through his hair as though this was the most important speech of his life.

“I just need you to know that you’re important to me Draco,” he finally said, voice practically oozing with sincerity. “Short of purposefully succeeding in killing one of my family members, there is nothing you could do that would ever make me wish any harm upon you. Especially not something like _this_.”

George’s voice cracked here and he gestured at the tower wall in a way that Draco assumed was meant to indicate his near-fatal mistake, but George wasn’t finished.

“I know we didn’t get off to the best start”, he said, and Draco had to keep himself from snorting at the understatement. “But it’s been a year now, and aside from Fred, you’re my best friend, and seeing you in pain like this is hurting me too.”

Draco felt the tears returning to his eyes as George poured his heart out in front of him.

“I love you Draco, and the thought that you are so miserable you would attempt something like this, and that you might try again in the future, just kills me inside. I don’t want to lose you.”

That last comment pushed Draco over the edge. He pulled George to him and they both buried their tears in each other’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered. “I promise you I don’t want to die. If I did, I’d just tell the Dark Lord I’m not interested in working for him and be done with it.”

“Well you couldn’t do that, because then I’d have to take time out of my day to come and save your sorry ass, and I’m sure there are more important things I could be doing.”

They both laughed tearfully as they pulled away from each other, but George kept a hold of Draco’s arms and looked into his eyes, and Draco knew he wasn’t escaping this without at least one more serious conversation.

“Seriously Draco, I need you to promise that if you ever feel like doing something like this again you will talk to me first. If whatever it is you’re doing this year is getting to be too much for you, I’ll help you get out—I don’t care what your family or mine will think. If you ever get this bad again, tell me and I’ll help you get so far away from all of this that you’ll never have to worry about any of it again.”

Draco nodded, but he knew things would have to get pretty dire before he contacted George and risked the other boy's life by dragging him into this whole mess. He could see that George knew exactly what he was thinking, but he didn’t say anything, for which Draco was grateful.

Draco relaxed back into George’s hold, determined to get as much out of this time with his friend as he could before he had to return to the shitty reality of his own life, where he would most likely never see this amazing man again; unfortunately, the sky was darkening and he knew he should be getting back to the Slytherin common room soon, before his housemates started to question his whereabouts.  He reluctantly mentioned this to George, who sighed and got to his feet, holding his hand out to assist Draco in standing.

He used the motion of helping him up to pull Draco into another hug and spoke, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

Draco nodded, “I promise.”

“And there’s nothing I can say to make you start writing to me again?”

Draco just shook his head against George’s shoulder, breath hitching, though he somehow managing to avoid crying again. He clung to George for a few moments longer before pulling away reluctantly and making his way to the stairs, knowing George would wait a while before following him so they didn’t attract attention. He didn’t let himself look back.

Draco made his way through the castle, and he was just crossing the entrance hall to the stairs that would lead him to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room when he was stopped in his tracks by Professor Dumbledore.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy,” murmured the elderly headmaster, “Just the man I was looking for.”

“Professor?” asked Draco, trying not to let his anxiety come through in his voice.

Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a wand, “I believe this belongs to you?” he enquired.

Draco’s eyes widened as he retrieved his wand, he had completely forgotten about dropping it over the side of the Astronomy Tower.

“Thank you sir, I'd forgotten I’d dropped it when I was doing my Astronomy homework” he lied.

Dumbledore didn’t so much as blink, “Of course. I hope you will be more careful with such precious objects in the future Mr Malfoy.”

Draco got the feeling Dumbledore was talking about more than just his wand there, but he didn’t really want to get into an in-depth discussion of his depression with the man he was pretending to try and assassinate on the Dark Lord’s orders, so he simply said “Yes sir,” and when it seemed Dumbledore wasn’t going to push the issue he bade the headmaster goodnight and retreated to his dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has Draco enduring some serious guilt about the people he has hurt as a result of his assassination 'attempts' on Dumbledore (ie. Katie Bell and Ron Weasley). These feelings culminate in Draco convincing himself that his attempts to double-cross Voldemort are putting the people he loves in danger and that it would be better for everyone he cares about if he were no longer in the picture. He attempts to commit suicide by jumping from the top of the Astronomy Tower, though he is thankfully prevented from doing so by George, who pulls him back from the edge. George hangs around and tells Draco that the world certainly would not be better without him in it, and convinces him not to try and hurt himself again, because the people who care about him would much rather their own lives be at risk than lose him forever. All is not sunshine and rainbows, Draco certainly isn't magically healed of his depression, but the chapter ends on a slightly higher note than it begins, and there will not be any more outright attempts at ending his life again in this story.


End file.
